


blame it on the stardust

by Diaphenia



Category: Superstore (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-18 05:04:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12381468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphenia/pseuds/Diaphenia
Summary: She continued to run her fingers over the dust covers. “Your books are in such perfect condition. I can’t stand it. I want to crack spines and fold corners.”





	blame it on the stardust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kissoffools](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissoffools/gifts).



“Welcome to my Fall into Autumn gathering,” Jonah said, sweeping his hand out to showcase his apartment. 

“I brought beer,” Amy said, pushing a six-pack into his chest and walking right in. “Where is the rest of the party?”

“Well, Cheyenne is working, and so is Glenn. Mateo has the day off, but he said he had to wash his hair. Dina texted about a bird emergency.”

“But that’s like everyone,” she said.

“And even though I told Garrett my apartment was wheelchair-accessible, he did not respond to the evite.” 

She shot him a mildly suspicious look, raising one eyebrow.

Jonah blushed. “I didn’t--” He had no idea how to end that sentence. 

“So everyone else just _happened_ to refuse to come to your ridiculous-- no, that makes sense.”

“It’s just that I’m lame. I swear.”

“That checks out.” She looked around the room, studying it, before making her way to the bookcase. “Your book collection is ridiculous. Haven’t you ever read a novel?”

“ _Anna Karenina_ is a novel.”

“That is a _tome._ You ever hear about Dan Brown?” She continued to run her fingers over the dust covers. “Your books are in such perfect condition. I can’t stand it. I want to crack spines and fold corners.”

He pictured her slung over a recliner, nibbling on the end of a highlighter as she destroyed his book. It was _domestic_. There was a cat he didn’t have sitting next to her. He shook his head, trying to dispel the vision. 

“Listen, I have an apple cider bar,” he said. 

He lead her to the kitchen to see his display: a crockpot full of farmer’s market cider, hand-whipped cream, caramel sauce, cinnamon sticks, and a line of mason jars wrapped in orange ribbons. 

She grabbed one of the beers she’d brought. 

After a minute, he did too. He’d use the fresh rosemary tomorrow. 

She drifted to his living room couch, silently drinking the beer and glancing around. “This is a surprisingly normal apartment. I assumed you’d live in some exposed-brick loft with old-timey bikes hung up on the wall.”

“Not since Chicago.”

She laughed. “You know, I thought this would be weird.”

“We said it wouldn’t be weird,” he said. He remembered that first day back to their new store. _This won’t be weird,_ he’d said to her, and she played dumb. _What won’t be weird? How could anything be weird when nothing happened in the first place even? What are you talking about? You sound like you took too much cold medicine._

“Right, but obviously I-- _we_ were lying.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, and he meant it. The idea that things would be off was necessarily predicated on the idea that Amy would leave her marriage, and obviously she was never going to do that. He didn’t even blame her, per se, because he knew how emotionally fraught breakups could be. He’d had to return a box of stuff to Naomi, and even after that, he’d occasionally find a bottle of shampoo or an old DVD of hers tucked away on his shelf. Adam probably had a hundred DVDs and a dozen self-care products. And they had a kid together. 

“My-- Adam moved in with his brother two weeks ago,” she said. 

He almost choked on his beer. “That’s so--” _Surprising?_ No. _Soon?_ No. _Super?_ “Much to think about. How are you doing?”

“It’s not-- it’s different, but I’m glad we aren’t lying to each other now. Like we aren’t going to overcome this great trial, we’re going to just admit we aren’t going to fight it. We failed.”

“It’s not a failure.”

“I mean, sure. We had a few good years and an amazing daughter, but our net worth is about $20, and I had to stop taking college courses so we could afford marriage counseling.”

“Shit. Do you want a hug?”

“No,” she said. “Maybe.”

He got up and sat down next to her, turned to her with open arms. 

She looked a little wary but scooted closer and accepted the hug. 

It was the first time he’d touched her in ages. She was warm, and as he held her, she sighed and softened, leaning into the hug. 

Jonah vowed to hold her as long as she needed it.

She broke away almost immediately. He pulled back.

“It’s still weird,” she said. “It’s like the tornado all over again.”

“Because you feel like I’m pushing your boundaries and you spent the entire summer blaming me for it?”

“No,” she said, giving him an eye roll. “Because it _feels nice_ to be touched.”

“Help me out here,” he said. “Are you--?”

She leaned forward, pulling his chin towards her. Before she kissed him, she made almost aggressive eye contact. _You in?_

He was, kissing her right back. Her lips were slightly chapped, smooshed inelegantly against his mouth, but a minute of adjustment, and they were aligned perfectly.

She pulled away. “Do I need to give you some speech on why I’m emotionally healthy enough to do this?”

“No, but it’s nice to know you are.” He leaned back in, and she met him there. She tasted like mass-produced beer. He could see the _Welcome!_ party banner on the wall just past her head, the _O_ a little pumpkin in the center. It was crooked. 

That didn’t matter. He put hands up around her face to prevent him from critiquing his sparsely-attended party. 

Then she started pulling off his shirt, and his manners went to the backburner. She gave an admiring hum as she looked him over.

“Can I--?” he asked, and she moved towards his lap, straddling his thighs. Once planted firmly in his lap, she toyed with the bottom of her own shirt, hesitating just a minute before tearing it off. 

Her bra was super hot-- gray lace cups with a little pink bow in the middle. 

She ducked her head, her dyed blonde hair falling in waves around her face. 

“Are you blushing?” he asked. 

“It’s embarrassing,” she said, her voice cracking just a bit. “I have a regular person’s body. I had a c-section.”

Jonah honestly hadn’t even noticed, although he did check. 

“It’s covered by my-- you know what? It’s time to refocus.” She tilted her head and he leaned in to kiss her neck. She shivered, and he pulled her closer, running his tongue along her collarbone before reaching back to her neck, kissing her again. She pressed against him, the rough lace of her bra teasing his chest. 

He pulled her closer. Her lower back was covered in goose-flesh. He vowed he’d remember next time to turn the heat up.

She, meanwhile, had her nails pressing into his back. It hurt, not in a sexy way, but he wasn’t going to complain.

He stuck a hand in between them, no mean feat when she was pressed so close to him, and rubbed against her bra, running a thumb over her nipple. 

She was going for the front latch to her bra when she brushed against him. “Do you--”

“I have them in the bedroom. And the bathroom.”

“No. Or-- do you shave your chest hair?” She ran a hand over his chest experimentally.

“Actually, I wax.”

Her eyes widened. “Or can you just not grow it? Is this a voluntary thing?”

“I see a very stern Eastern European woman who--” 

The doorbell rang,

“Shit,” he said. “Shit.” He started pulling his jeans back up.

“You have to answer it,” she said.

He stopped fiddling with his belt. “Do I?”

The doorbell rang again, accompanied by a knock. 

“Yes!” she started buttoning her shirt back up, over the bra, and Jonah reminded himself to think about something unsexy. Croquet. Cyclical poverty. William Henry Harrison. Anything. 

He took a deep breath and threw open the front door. “Hello to the Fall into... Sandra.”

“It’s so good to see you,” Sandra said. “I brought baumkuchen.”

“That’s so great,” Amy said. Her shirt was buttoned, but her hair was mussed. Jonah thought she looked great. “What the fuck is a baumkuchen?”

***

Two hours later, Jonah saw Sandra to the door. “Have a good evening!” he said to her retreating back.

“You know she’s helping her mom tonight,” Amy said. When he shook his head, she continued. “Her mom is moving into assisted living this week? Were you even listening to her?”

He focused on grabbing the plates from the table, admiring the fall leaves dancing around the edges as he put them in the dishwasher. “I’m going to be real honest and say I was mostly thinking about the pre-Sandra part of the party.”

He couldn’t look at her; didn’t want to gauge her reaction. 

“Jonah,” she said, from somewhere to the left. “Me, too.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him back.


End file.
